


Our Neverworld

by shewhowritesofbloodandtime



Series: Phantasm [3]
Category: Original Work, Phantasm (Movies)
Genre: 1860s Fashion, 1865, 1971 Barricuda, 1998, 19th Century, Accidental Bonding, Accidental Voyeurism, Age Difference, Astral Projection, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Civil War, Concussions, Confederate Soldiers, Divination, Doctors & Physicians, Dwarves, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Entities, Explicit Language, F/M, Flashbacks, Fortune Telling, Four-Barrel Shotguns, Graphic Description of Corpses, Grooming, Historical Accuracy, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Human Anatomy, Injury, Injury Recovery, Literary References & Allusions, Medicine, Near Death Experiences, Nurses & Nursing, Older Man/Younger Woman, Parallel Universes, Paralysis, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Prequel, Realm Hopping, Recovered Memories, Repressed Memories, Science Experiments, Sentinel Spheres, Sequel, Slaves, Spacegates, Supernatural Elements, The Red Planet, Time Travelling Machines, Undead Servants, Union Soldiers, Violence, Voyeurism, War, Weapons, field hospitals, graphic descriptions of illness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-01-24 11:17:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18570337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewhowritesofbloodandtime/pseuds/shewhowritesofbloodandtime
Summary: 1998— Mike Pearson has escaped with his mind distorted, his body affected and somehow changed by the Tall Man's abilities. As he drives through Death Valley, still followed by his loyal friend Reggie, he races through time and space as he tries to adapt to the new form and balance he's been given. However, he soon ventures across a distinctive spacegate within the desert. From its unseen vibrations, a young woman from the past enters his life. Together the two travel two specific dimensions and all the while, learn and discover the truth behind the man clad in black.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during "Oblivion" and before the very first film in the series. I absolutely loved the fourth one, and ever since I saw the scenes with Jebediah's backstory, it made me so damnably curious. I've never written a back-and-forth arc between two plot lines, so please forgive how they're gonna be written. As always, let's remember that Jebediah in his human state was described as a kind, mild-mannered gentleman, and of course, his dark alien counterpart is well known to be mysterious, dark, cunning and utterly immortal. 
> 
> I can't wait to see how this one comes out! This is a sequel (and or prequel?) to my first "Phantasm" fanfiction, "Original Sin." If you see a name by Christine, that's my original character. I only own her, and the rest respectively and eternally belongs to Don Coscarelli.
> 
> I got the name of this fanfiction from my favorite Xandria song, "Our Neverworld." Don't know why, but it's a pretty good song that I think would fit the "Phantasm" series quite well. Just listen to it.

_The scent of blood was strong in my nostrils. I had just finished operating on a young man, perhaps twenty to twenty-one years of age. Severed artery in the left leg and a broken collarbone protruding from his flesh. I'd been working on repairing him for the past few minutes, but nothing seemed to help him. Not the bandages, not the stitching. There was no apparent relief for this youth except for one way— infinite death. I hadn't assumed the role like this since before long ago. He thrashed on the bed, but not for very long. My hands had made way to preparing a new syringe. Morphine lay in the tubing. However, as the young soldier beneath me continued to thrash, to cry out in pain, I rolled his sleeve up and saw how his vein was protruding._

_"Lie still, son," I told him. "It will all be over soon."_

_The soldier kept moving chaotically. His every sporadic pulse of pain came in small intervals, but then, I swept his vein clean with a rag of water. He was strapped down now, the poor soul, as it was the only chance to keep him still. The needle pierced him and sunk softly into his skin. He winced only a few times but as I addressed his pain with the morphine, he was beginning to calm after a few hours. He fell asleep the minute after it struck two in the morning. He was lying unconscious for a moment, his chest rising and barely accumulating to the rhythm of air entering._

_Now was the moment to truly relieve him._

_I had two other men come into the tent and do it for me. Even though he was now sedated somewhat by the drug, he would try to thrash one last time. I left the tent and they entered past me, knowing very well what they had to do. The boy couldn't be saved no matter how hard I tried and no matter how much I wanted him to live. I heard the muffled gasping come right away._

_As I heard the booming of the cannons from far away, something up ahead against the line of the wood caught my eye. It was tall, perhaps a few inches shorter than me, and casting the shape of a man._

_A young man, perhaps early thirties, who was now walking towards me in strange clothes. He wore some kind of jacket with a zipper-like attachment in the front, with pockets and his pants turned into a black jean. He wore a shirt different than our fashion, and I felt something come over me then. As he walked along the brush, something gave me the realization that as he and I made and contained eye contact, that he was not from my time at all._


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place in 1861 during a ball at which Jebediah discovers Lincoln announces the issue of a proclamation to draft soldiers. It will develop into the later chapters of 1865 when Mike comes through the dimensional fork during the year 1998. If you haven't read my own story of "Original Sin," please do or else you'll be confused as to who Isabelle and Christine are. They are my original characters, but the rest belongs faithfully and respectively to Don Coscarelli.
> 
> [Here](https://www.civilwarballgowns.com/civil-war-ballgowns-southern-belle-dresses/alyjqa7zxk3p87uzdqtdi1oscxyikk) is the link to Christine's pink gown and the link to Jebediah's suit is [here](https://www.historicalemporium.com/store/003013.php).

_**-1861 | Jebediah's POV-** _

The month of April had me dreading the whole course that was to come. There were talks, rumors, and as I prepared myself for the late-night gala, I began to feel that some kind of announcement was to be made. I dressed myself immediately and gathered my top hat, my key and my personal effects. I would not ride singularly into the town this evening, but rather with those of the Ainsworth family. From the earlier days I had known the woman's husband, but now, he had been gone for nearly six years; she was widowed and with a single daughter.  
  
It was reaching a quarter to seven, and the dark had grown rather deep outside. I went to my window and watched for the driver and carriage to come upon my drive, and when the trees began to sway, something stirred in me and I felt an odd feeling come over my person.

I looked to the barn then and saw the door was swung open. The hinges alone seemed broken. From what I could see, parts of the bolts and iron were lying upon the ground. Something did not seem right, so I descended down my stairs and I ventured out the front door. There was a wind coming through, but in its breeze, I knew it was not strong enough to have damaged the door.

I walked across the grass and came upon the painted wood. I looked inside but it was too dark. I had placed and prepared a lantern by the front upon a barrel, and as I lit a match and struck the wick of the candle inside, I went inside the barn and looked all around.

The hay had been disturbed and I saw something lying on the ground, far in the corner pen. I looked to where I last left my Appaloosa, but it was not there. My feet quickened in pace. I could feel my heart developing a faster beat, and I could honestly say I wasn't prepared for what I found.

In front of me, sprawled out about six feet in length from snout to tail, there lay the horse I had ridden not only hours ago. Its throat was _bitten_ , with its... stomach _burrowed_ into. The intestines lay out of its abdominal cavity, and the sight of its bowels, combined with its fresh red blood, it all mortified me. As to what could have caused its death was beyond me.

The bite that was upon its throat was not even deep enough to lacerate or kill it. It wasn't possible. Its disembowelment had been its infinite cause, but I wondered— how was it that it did not scream or howl out of pain? How could such a small, child-size bite silence it so well? I didn't want to know at the moment. It was horrific and it was beyond all my reckoning. I could hear something approaching. I quickly ran to the barn door, left, and shut it behind me. My hand put the lantern down and immediately, I grabbed the closest chain and lock; my fingers worked it all rather fast, and I heard the lock click shut. As tragic the horse's death was, I could not and would not let them see the poor creature as it was. I would have to return home later and bury it.

I steadily returned to my porch and waited upon the steps. The carriage was coming and so, I brushed off the dust from my clothing and made sure no strands of hay were anywhere upon me. The driver seemed to be absent-minded as he turned into the cul-de-sac of the drive. The horse he had, its eyes were widened and alert. I swallowed hard and looked to the barn once.

In comparison, this horse had been undoubtedly healthy, untainted, unclaimed. Its mane blew in the wind and as it got closer, it stopped and came to a halt. The driver seemed placid in his appearance, but something else seemed off-tuned about it all. There was a fog developed across the ground, and the horse began to trot in place, lowly whinnying. I was about to muster the will to reenter my house, when suddenly a voice cried clearly.

"Jebediah?" a woman's voice called.

I looked ahead and saw a feminine, middle-aged face staring out of the window at me. Features of pronounced, full cheekbones, a sturdy chin and graceful blue eyes gazed at me. Upon recognizing who it was, I steadied my nerves.

"Hello, Isabelle," I said.

She smiled once at me and opened the door. It swung open in a bland manner, but I knew the gestures behind it were well-meant. "Come along, Jebediah. We've got to be there soon."

I hadn't walked so fast towards a carriage and entered one before in such a manner. I kept a calm, collective face upon me, and as I entered, the door shut behind me in a thud. I sat beside her, brushing my leg against her massive crinoline gown made of peach-colored satin, and from across the way, saw her young daughter sitting there. The same blue eyes, but more kinder. The same lips but softer. I could remember being present there for her birth.

As she sat across from me, I could remember that Christine was her name, and how I felt a race of emotions overcome me as I nodded towards her once; she was a true beauty, one with splendor, grace and comely womanhood. That made her more vulnerable to men of her age and how I worried for her. Nevertheless, I felt the carriage move by the gentle whip of the reins, and we were gone, trotting away from Morningside's dark.

\---

When we arrived at the mansion of a friend, we were escorted to the largest of foyers I had ever been in. A twin staircase lay in front and either side wove up high into the left and right. Fashionable ribbons of satin the colors of red, blue and white clung to the Romanesque pillars, and the eccentricity of the crowd made me feel rather suffocated. I did not mind the different mindsets of folks, but sometimes their ideas ran too crowded, or their fashions were too promiscious for one of the night scenery. Ladies' collarbones were far-more pronounced, and their wrists, their throats were overly-drenched in their eau du perfum. Lilacs and sandalwood could not save their presence.

Thankfully, spirits were being offered and I took a glass of brandy. I rose the glass of crystal to my lips and drank down the harsh burn of the brandy. It helped me undoubtedly, and with the brisk temperature it was, it seemed to melt into me without stop. I was grateful for it, but I would not inebriate myself. I was not in the mood for drunken foolishness. As I kept the brandy in hand, I looked around. So many people were around and I saw their faces shaded by candlelight. Ringlets of hair were consumed by ribbons, other gentle form of wear for the ladies; the men had their hair combed back, bobbed or pronounced with slicked oil. Fine gentry for a world that would soon end.

I was about to take another drink, when suddenly I was approached by a young blonde girl. Her hand caught my arm and I jolted ever so slightly, as she came up to me from behind.

"My God," I coughed, turning with caution. "Who―?"

Confused, I looked down at the young one. She was perhaps sixteen to seventeen years of age, and fitted in a tight-fit crinoline gown the color of shaded lavender. Her face was completely placid and perhaps a little dull. She looked at her left and there beside her in a wheelchair was an old woman clad in black, one who wore a black lace veil and wore dark-colored bifocals. She seemed a cold essence, and as she finally spoke, the chills ran down my spine.

"Jebediah," she wheezed. "I want to talk to you."

I realized then as to who she was. Her expensive silver, the metaphysical amulet round her neck, her aromas of incense and oil. I knew then that she was the fortune teller and I hadn't been paying attention; however, the memory of her now made me recall her. For God's sake, she had been telling fortunes since I was a young man. The youth who must have been her granddaughter suddenly walked away and lifelessly, her crinoline floated around her.

"Of course, we can speak privately, Mathilda. Shall we go into the private drawing room?" I said.

I walked behind her and began to push her down the hallway. We came down the longest corridor and I opened one of the doors that was not in use. We entered and of course, there sat her implements of her craft. Candles were burning and I saw her point with one finger at an open seat. I pushed her gently up to the table and sat opposite her. Her silence was chilling to say the least. Her wide face and folds hid her true gesture with shadows, and the silver of her age made her seem precedent to a time before this. I didn't say anything else, but swiftly for one of her age, her frailty, she took my hand into hers and began to read the lines. My palm lay flat as she brushed it with her thumb. Truth be told, I hadn't the knack for fortunes myself, but I did not doubt a thing. I was too enamored, too entranced.

Her fingertips kept tracing the lines and because she wore those dark bifocals, I could not tell what her eyes were doing. Something in my veins trembled then. I felt a cold sensation overcome my nape. I swallowed the pain in my throat hard, and then, she finally spoke to me. The groveling rasp of her tone made me feel inadequate.

"You are going to be wallowing in the blood of soldiers, in the blood of a beloved. From future war to events untold through time and space, it will be a strange path you'll walk. For in due time, the next 137 years will change everything. Though, you will not be destitute in your search with your obsession. She'll help you and guide you along the way. The next four years will prove a great deal," Mathilda said, her voice weak. "Just let the plan complete itself."

\---

After that strange meeting, everyone gathered into the ballroom. The young men and ladies would dance first, and then the others would join. I myself hadn't the heart for dancing, as it required both a partner and a steady heart. A heart I had, a partner I did not.

I sat in the corner of the room, drinking away at my brandy. Isabelle was off talking to her small circle of friends, and Mathilda and her granddaughter were across the way. I hadn't the slightest idea as to why I was there, but I knew some form of announcement would be made, whether or not Lincoln had decided over a war or not.

I was about to take one more drink, when suddenly, Christine came running towards me. Her dress was ever so attractive, for it was a soft satin of pink laced with rose trim among the shoulders, and it floated around her as if it were nothing; her one hand held the front of her gown, and the other reached for mine. There was a lively smile upon her face and she held my hand carefully, though excited she was. I put my brandy down and said, "What is the matter, Christine? Is something wrong?"

"What? Oh, no, not at all. I was perhaps wondering if you could accompany me for a dance."

My eyes went wide. " _What?_ "

"Dance with me... please?"

I stammered. I hadn't the slightest thought of way to say, what to think. I laughed at myself and shook my head, well aware that others could see us. For a young girl such as herself to dance or be around a man much older and without a chaperone, it was considered to be rather presumptuous and immoral for society standards, seeing as we were both unmarried and different in age. Should the wrong people see us arm in arm...

"Please," Christine said. "I'll lead if you like, Doctor. Mother gave me endless lessons, so if you can't dance, I'll teach you."

The need in her eyes was dire. She was so small compared to me, a little rose of five feet four. I was worried I would trample her in my tall stature, but as she slightly gripped my hand, I could tell that we would perhaps not be dancing in the public eye, which made me stress only a little.

"Very well," I told her. "But one dance, alright? Though I remember how to waltz, I'm terrible."

Christine's porcelain face began to glow, and she ushered me down the corridor to the left. There outside was a massive flat platform, one where everyone would gather later for dinner. She was rather brave for doing what she did. She cared not, as she was free-spirited and stubborn. A dangerous, but commendable combination in today's day in age, and I admired her.

She led me out into the open and took one of my hands into hers. She placed the other on her hip, and she lingered close, looking up at me, batting her eyes slowly as her lips were parted halfway in a smile.

We danced like that for quite sometime, and even more so, she kept herself reserved, proper. She treated this only as a dance and I had been very appreciative and grateful to her for that. She took my hand and guided us in the slow rhythm, whereas now I began to hear strange vibrations. My spine felt the tremors and vividly, I looked around us in the dark. The faint light of the lanterns burned but caught no sight of what was there. I reeled her in protectively and began to think of what it could be.

"Doctor? Is everything alright?"

I looked down at the youth before me. Her eyes were bewitched with curiosity and I pondered. I singularly shook my head in response. "Yes, dear one. There is nothing wrong."

We were about to do a second dance, when suddenly shouting and an uproarious commotion overtook the insides of the mansion. Men gossiped just as loudly as the women, and a gunshot sounded too. Christine clasped me to her and I burrowed her against my chest. A boy of twelve came running around the corner then, beating a handheld drum on a strap. He was quick, he was sleek. His eyes were wild and as Christine and I observed this sudden outburst of ballyhoos, the boy's voice echoed through the halls and off the platform.

"Lincoln's called for a proclamation! Soldiers, mount up! Grab your guns and hold your bullets! Lincoln's calling for men!"


	3. Chapter Two

_**-1861 | Jebediah's POV Continued-** _

  
Christine's rose-colored lips were shivering. I felt how she clung to me wildly, scared as if she were still child-like; fingers laced together behind my back and her arms were pressed close. Her blues were tearing slightly, her black lashes gleaming, and I eyed how her skin grew a whiter shade of pale. Fear trembled in her eyes. She looked up at me and shook her head, swallowing hard her words as she spoke to me. "Does that mean you'll be called upon too?"

I exhaled deeply. It was the most unexpected of announcements, but yet, for such talk circulating as it had been, I was not surprised at the President's decisions. A part of me inside felt the cold coming. I could already smell the blood and see the wounds. The sense of nausea came then and I hunched over to the side slightly. Christine's small white hands found my arms. She tried to keep me upward as best as she could, but ultimately, I had to sit and catch my breath. Her small frame tilted me to sit upward on a nearby bench, and I still could not take in the fact that this was about to truly occur.

I knew there would be so much blood, so many casualties. It was to be a waste of human life, and the tragedy of it was certain. I reached for my handkerchief and pressed it to my mouth. My nerves were unsettled, and she could see that I was not feeling well in my emotions. Darling Christine knelt before me in her pink-satin crinoline and held my one hand. The warmth of her small palm gave me hope then.

"Please, you're not alright! Is there something I can do?"

The concern behind her words was real. I saw the lanterns burning all around us, and as the light of the moon came out from behind the clouds, I heard the roar of thunder then. It rumbled across the skies and slightly, the foundations of the platform shook. Light rain began to fall, then it came more steadily. It landed on the silk she wore as well as her pale skin. Her shoulders were becoming riddled with goose-flesh, and I could not stand to see a woman cold. She shivered, but not for long as I draped my coat over her.

"Let us go inside, dear one," I told her. "I loathe the thought of you catching your death of cold."

In the strength I had of my age, I raced across the platform with her. Arm in arm, we rushed across. We traveled down the steps and as thunder continued to bellow, wind picked up and lightning came. It beautified the shimmer of her satin, but not before sparking ripples of purple across the sky brightly. The rain finally began to pour in sheets befitting that of a mad storm. I worried for her, and as a guardian would, as a decent human being should, I made certain the fact to look after her no matter what.

\---

We entered the ballroom of the mansion and there Isabelle came to us.

Her brows were pulled together in disbelief, in curiosity. She knew as well as I did the customs of our society. No unwed girl should be allowed in public with an older, unmarried man. But I cared not about the traditions as most did. I was more or less concerned about bringing her daughter to her safely. Christine rushed to her mother with my coat still upon her shoulders. The wetness of the rain dripped onto the champagne-colored tiles, and she walked solemnly.

"Mother, have you heard the news?" Christine asked. "The President has called for men. Does that mean they'll need nurses, too?"

Isabelle seemed hestitant to answer her daughter. I saw how her body language changed. Her muscles tensed, her collarbone protruding deep and lowly. The lines of distress but honesty came too as she spoke, replying to her. "Yes, Christine."

"Will you become a nurse again, Mother? You were so cherished by the soldiers of previous wars. I had heard from the other women of how good and kind you were to them. They said you were quite a strong hand."

Isabelle shook her head once. "No, daughter. I am too old and if I see blood again, I know my heart will give. When I saw the blood from your father's accident, I thought it was a mistake. But now, I'm not so sure. I wish I still had the heart to help, but my nerves are not as they once were."

Christine's small figure seemed saddened. Her own body tensed once, then rested calmly. She nodded in assurance that she understood. I saw how my coat began to slide off her shoulders, but Isabelle caught it before I could. She returned my coat to me, though I wish there was more I could do for Christine. The young one looked around and watched as the men continued to boast about the news. The women and their daughters fled, their feet carrying them to the front porch. I saw how the ballroom was left a tangible mess, but as I was beginning to walk away, bowing my head once in respect, it was Christine who caught my wrist.

"Dr. Morningside, wait!"

I stopped and turned to look at her. "What is it, child?"

Gathering the front of her dress in her free hand, she came near me again. The white of her knuckles shone against the pink, and I saw her mother become confused. Her little figurine touched my upper arm then as before, and I saw how her lips moved in honest conversation.

"May I be permitted to be your aid when the war begins? I have studied many medical and anatomy books. I am quick to learn and I pay utmost attention."

I could not even muster an answer before Isabelle screamed. "NO!"

"Mother?" Christine gasped.

Isabelle charged forward and wrenched Christine away from me. "I forbid it, girl. You are only eighteen! Young ladies have no business being a part of war, whether they dedicate their time willingly and out of decency. War is not for the faint of heart. If you are to continue to live under my roof, you'll obey my rules and do as I say. Besides, it's high time you married and became proper."

I was not one to get in the middle of family affairs, but I too believed that Isabelle was too high maintenance, even for her only child. I knew her temper. I had seen it quite often, which it given me reason to refuse her hand in marriage many years ago. It was only fitting though that I should step in and give my voice to the one who was being hushed.

"Isabelle, I will watch over her. I will not let any harm come to her. She'll stay in a separate tent with the other women when we leave, of course, but I'll see to it that she is not left misguided during her duties as nurse. You can trust me. I will be her chaperone."

The thunder roared ever loudly, and this time, it shook the very foundations of the mansion itself. The elder women quaked while the other showed no fear. For that, I admired her. I had almost forgotten then how late it was, and I saw the nearby grandfather clock tolling. It was ten-thirty at night, and it was time to leave; I gathered my coat into my arm and fetched the rest of my effects. I began to walk towards the door when suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, Christine withdrew a fan and swung it to and fro. It was the language of their feminine protocol, to signal what they wished to say aloud but could not.

Her actions spoke clearly— _can I see you home?_ The next signal induced the intent that she wished for me to hurry along with her out the door; her fan rose in her right hand to her face, which signaled for me to accompany her. Isabelle alone seemed insulted by her daughter's signals towards me.

"Mother, I am leaving with Dr. Morningside. I shall see you home in an hour or so. I bid you good-night."

"Christine, you can't! You'll cause rumors and scandal!"

Her innocence was maintained, but her fierce independence reigned. She took my arm in hers and together, we walked towards the door. She was a woman now, and she had the world in her hand. Blue irises peered into mine. She seemed regal in her form, in her walk, and how I adored her for her bravery and ability to stand up for herself. We walked out the front door down the steps, and I opened the carriage door for her. I felt awful for leaving Isabelle behind, but I saw that she came out later and entered another carriage. Into the dark, we began to trot home as our driver clicked his tongue and gently snapped the reins.

\---

I saw as her fan was tucked away now. She watched the rain glisten upon the glass of the carriage, and she seemed mesmerized by the sight of purple lightning. Her skin was ever radiant in the light. It was shaped by shadow and illuminated by moonlight. Her hair was no longer wet, but damp. As she sat so very close to me, she smelled of the spring dew though truly, morning had not come yet.

I cleared my throat then to break my concentration of staring at her beauty. She eyed me from the corner of the eye, though she did not turn her head at all.

"Christine, I believe you owe your mother an explanation," I said.

As we rode in the carriage back to her home, Christine looked at me with timid, shy eyes. She knew she had insulted Isabelle perhaps too harshly, but at the same time, I had found some kind of relief that she was strong-willed. She had sat beside me the whole ride onward, but now she shifted to sit across from me. She looked me in the eye as the inside lantern burned.

"An explanation? Of what? Do you approve of how she treats me, Doctor?"

"Please," I told her. "Call me Jebediah. And no. I do not approve of it though truly, and sadly, it is not my place to say aloud what should happen between a mother and her daughter."

She smiled faintly and looked at the flooring. Her bosom heaving with excitement, with hushed calm and astonishment, she said, "You've granted me a secret dance, and now I am to call you by your first name without Mother's knowledge? What scandal."

"Christine..."

"Yes, my dear Jebediah?"

Her cheeks were rouged with slight pink-red. Her lips were softened by her smile, and as the rain clattered atop the roof of the carriage, she arched a brow as I often did. I could tell then, that perhaps even quiet in heart, she fancied me. Her hand continued with the words unspoken, and I saw how she flitted it softly, quietly. Her fan was opened widely. My heart was racing then with panic. That fan action meant love. My skin grew cold and how I hated that feeling. I was utterly astonished that I did not know what to truly say.

"Christine, you must not do that. I am far beyond your years and old. You are even a rank higher than me. I am a mere doctor. You are descended from French lords. I assume you can see how we're different, my dear?"

She closed the fan then and lowered her head in sadness; I could see it in her eyes and saw how she acknowledged the facts. We both understood the meaning of courtship, and for her to give me such a look, it was deemed immoral and perhaps ill-advised. I knew she was a pure girl. She meant no harm to no one and yet, she would defend, she would protect as I would too. The horse trotted down a rather pitted road, and over one bump, it jolted young Christine across and I caught her.

Her face rested then atop my breast. She looked up at me and grew quiet. I swallowed the ball of pain in my throat and rested her back across from me. She sat up against the velvet seating and looked out the window again. She looked one way, I the other. It was silently strange, silently vivid.

She reached out for me then. One hand caught mine and I saw flat, smooth skin show against my wrinkled, thin-boned fingers.

"Perhaps someday, Doctor, you and I will make quite a discovery. I believe it will come very soon. But for now, I see blood..."


	4. Chapter Three

_**-1861 | Christine's POV-** _

When we arrived back at Jebediah's home, I could see the winds had blown open the doors of the barn. So much debris had come around, and everything was scattered about the place. Fallen tree branches lingered across the front yard, the leaves had tumbled against the door and the windows. Splinters of wooden fence had even fallen around the house. For such a storm, it seemed more powerful than most we had in the recent decades. I saw how his horses were running around in the midst of the wild wind, the pattering rain, and how I pitied him then staying here, all alone by himself.

As we circled up to the front porch, the carriage came to a halt and my driver managed to come around towards the side and opened the door. His face was soaked, his coat heaving in the winds. He held the door open in place, and before I could see Jebediah out, he looked at me and spoke.

"Thank you, Christine," he told me. "Might I make a request?"

I pursed a brow and replied quickly. "What is it?"

"I want you and the driver to stay for a while, if only to wait out this storm. The roads are in no condition to be ventured upon, even in this late hour and in this horrid weather."

I was hardly in a position to argue, and I too wanted out of this abrupt disturbance of elements. I nodded once and looked at him still, taking his hand as I led him out of the cabin. We both managed to escape the confines quickly, and the driver helped me towards the steps. Looking at him, I said, "We are to reside here for a few hours. Dr. Morningside does not believe it a good idea to go on. We must wait out the storm."

My driver nodded and raced then to the seat. He took the reins in hand and ushered the horse to head towards the barn. Jebediah took my hand and led me up the stairs, whereas he unlocked his door and escorted me inside. I could feel the dryness come over me, and more so, the wetness and cold of the rain. My crinoline was soaked, my gown itself drenched. Even with my shawl and coat upon me, it did nothing to prevent me from this sudden cold.

"Come towards the fireplace, Christine," he whispered. "I'll stoke the fire and try to find you some new garments."

I furrowed my brows together. "You have women's clothing?"

"Yes," he said. "But it was from someone long ago. She passed on but she never got to wear the dresses. I do believe she was your size though. I'll go search for the gown and you can make yourself at home. Please, take to the fire, my dear. I hate to see you so cold and freezing in your bones."

I was about to speak again, when suddenly he ascended his stair. He left me there in the vast opening of the drawing room, and I approached the brick fireplace with the threads drip, drip, dripping. The fire crackled and the flames danced red and orange. I was not about to question the warmth, as I felt it smouldering upon my face. My torso was the most chilled, and thus, I sat in front of the fire with my hands outstretched. I waited as such for a few minutes. It turned towards midnight when Jebediah came back.

\---

In his arms, he held an old cream-and-peach-colored gown. Its décolleté was made of white lace, with the rest of its bodice and train made of a gingerly cotton. It had very short sleeves, hidden by the white of the lace. I tried it on and felt its vast train pool around my ankles. The dress was made perhaps for someone taller than me, but bodice and torso-wise, it was an astounding fit. He stepped back and turned himself to step outside the room. I changed gowns rather quickly and allowed my hoops to dry near the fire itself. Once changed, the wideness where my crinoline would sit was now flat, and it seemed like a vast ocean of cream-peach around my legs.

"Dr. Morningside," I said then. "Has my driver Emmitt come in? He hasn't returned at all."

He reentered the room and shook his head softly. "No, dear one. I have not seen him."

Outside, the thunder roared heavily. Lightning continued to flash its streaks of purple and white, and all the while, I could hear my mother pacing back and forth by our own window. But it was too dark, too nasty of a storm to venture through. It would have to wait until either the rain stopped or dawn broke.

"He should have been back by now," I wheezed.

I headed towards the front door then. I did not open it, but I did look out of the window. Through the shifting pattern of rain upon the glass, I saw barely a thing. Only dark shadows caught my eye. I looked to the barn and saw that the doors were now swinging back and forth. A creaking noise came as well, one that sounded too sharp and desolate. I saw something then that altered my perception.

A tall, black figure made its way from one side to the other. It was inside the barn now and I saw no face, only something with broad shoulders and an unbelievable height. My heart stilled inside my chest. I swallowed hard and felt the fear come over me. I blinked a few times to make sure it was only a child-like imagination, but it was not. No animals cried out and only shadows seemed to make their way to my eyesight. I thought myself mad, but then I saw smaller shapes. Hooded shapes the height of small children.

" _Oh, God_ ," I shrieked.

I backed away from the pane and accidentally collided into the doctor's fine chest. He looked down at me and I shivered. My arms instinctively threw themselves around him and the thunder roared. Like a child, I hid into his chest and softly sobbed. My tears soaked his new cotton shirt, and I quivered, almost uncontrollably.

"Christine, what is wrong?"

"There are people in your barn. Rather, they are like things. Hooded little people almost and then, I saw something as tall as you, if not taller. They are figures of black and brown; I couldn't see their faces but I swear, I felt like they could see me. Don't let them inside. We have to lock the doors and keep quiet. I don't know if they are armed trespassers but I don't trust this. It frightens me."

He could feel me shaking and I felt his large, pale hand cup the back of my head. His thumb brushed the top middle, and my skin began to develop goose-flesh. I was that terrified that I did not know what to do, what to think. He steadied me and together, we walked towards the door. He reached out and locked it with his skeleton key. I heard it click and then, he locked the panels of his windowsills too.

"Come by the fire, dear," he told me. "Shh. You just stay right here with me and it will be alright. Just remain quiet and calm. Don't be frightened. If they find what they want, they can take it and leave. I want no trouble to come of this, but if I must, I will load the gun I keep beside my writing desk in the gun cabinet."

I was about to sit in front of the fire again, but I saw Emmitt's figure at the window. His eyes were bleeding. His face was stained with red and I saw something strange upon his lips. Fresh stitches. The stitches were sewn into his lips. His eyes were closed but yet, I knew something was wrong, for he seemed blind. He banged on the glass and I screamed so loudly that I began to go into hysterics.

_"Jebediah! He's at the window, my God!"_

He looked at me once and I saw Emmitt's hand catch the pane. Red smeared rather messily and I heard him mumbling towards us through his sewn-shut mouth. "Help me!"

The doctor raced towards his cabinet and as I looked still at the window, Emmitt kept pounding and pounding till finally I could take no more. I put my hands to my ears and screamed once, loudly and without pause. My knees buckled and from fear, exhaustion and a profusely-beating heart, I collapsed onto the drawing room floor and black was all I saw then. I heard a gunshot or two, but after that, all I heard was the blistering quiet of silence.

\---

"Christine? Christine, wake up."

I could not tell what time it was, but it seemed early in the morning now. The skies outside began to turn pink and red, and the rain had stopped. It was clearing up now but there were still thick grey clouds outside. I looked all around and felt my blood warm, then go cold again. Jebediah had placed me upon his chaise lounge sofa, and I woke up cradling the pillow beneath my head and my arm.

"What happened?" I asked. "Did Emmitt—?"

"Right here, young miss," a voice said.

I cocked my head up and looked towards the direction where I heard said voice. He was standing right there, this time with a clean, open mouth and piercing, albeit unharmed eyes. His figure was unscathed and he held his top hat in hand. He seemed worried as if I was about to fire him, but I was more or less terrified, traumatized. Emmitt's middle-aged figure seemed more realistic than it had before.

"What? How the hell—?"

Jebediah took my hand in his and I faced him with my mouth open, teeth hidden. My brows were arched upward and I could still feel myself shaking. He pat my hand a few times and softly reassured me.

"It was just a wild storm, Christine. You must have been exhausted. Sometimes, when we are overly tired, the mind will play tricks on us and cause us to see things it chooses to see. It's called scotoma, but I promise you, it's alright now. The storm's moved on to the west and it's quite safe out again. You are alright. Emmitt just remained outside in the carriage for the night. Nothing to worry about. You both are going to be fine," the doctor explained.

I sat up and felt a sharp pain in my arm then. I looked down and rubbed it, whereas I saw a small little cloth there where my vein was. "What is that from?"

"Christine, please do not get mad at me, but I had to give you something. You were going into a panic and I did not know how else to calm you. I was worried for your safety, so... I gave you a dose of sedative to make you sleep."

"But I fainted. When did you give it to me?"

"You woke up again shortly after that, saying Emmitt was a zombified presence or something else entirely. I was worried for you, so I had to put you on the sofa and give you an injection. That is why you have a small bruise on your vein. You were thrashing as I gave you the medicine."

I was trying to comprehend everything that was going on, and as I did, a migraine formed at the base of my skull. It reverberated then to the front, and under my scalp, it thumped, it throbbed. I wanted to go home but at the same time, I did not trust Emmitt's appearance. I had never known him to wish me ill, but something in my bones did not feel right. I did not want to leave the mansion but I knew had I to return to the confines of home.

Within a few minutes, I was back inside the family carriage. The door was shut and locked for my sake, and Emmitt crawled atop the seat and took the reins. Jebediah stood on his porch and bid me farewell for the moment, and as the horse began to take us away, I saw Jebediah sit within his rocking chair upon the porch. I was relieved for him now, but at the same time, I felt something ominous coming, something that we would not be able to control in the slightest.

\---

As we were riding homeward, I spied something among the end of an old, secluded dirt road. It was rather foreign to me, but something that seemed radiant in its silver shine. Perhaps two feet apart from each other, there sat four-feet high silver poles. I could not even begin to understand what it was, but I knew I had to see for myself what it was.

"Emmitt, stop the carriage!"

The horse stopped and I opened the door, escaping the cabin. Emmitt was about to follow but I signaled him to stay. A strange, resonating sound escaped the silver. I drew closer, and with every step, I felt like I was being pulled closer with an unseen force. "What is it?"

The closer I came, the more I felt the energies consume the presence of my atmosphere. Warmth and cold clung to me vividly. I closed my eyes unafraid and with one look of knowing where I was go, I willingly stepped between the poles. I was swept away then into a red void. I screamed aloud and thrashed, my arms and legs waving wild. I was falling, was sweeping towards somewhere unknown, whereas I found myself now in the middle of a barren land.


	5. Chapter Four

_**-1998 | Mike's POV-** _

The nights were coming around faster, and the days seemed shorter. The clouds usually hung heavy over the mountains, and for as dry as this desert was, there was no chance of rain. Dust kicked up every time the hearse stirred. It gave a robust scent of earth, and that was all I could smell, though in truth I was happy for it. I'd been smelling dead flesh and old corpses for far too long.

I could even see the veins from the time when we defeated him. _The yellow blood, the molded flesh, the rotten mucus_ — it was all-too-familiar in the sense that the characteristics of the dead had always been with me. I stood in the shadow of a boulder that was higher than twenty-six feet then. The shade had come over me and I felt a supreme weight on my chest. It felt like I could barely breathe, could barely think. My mind had been transformed with the silver within my head. It felt like it was still drilling and whirring wildly, vividly. With the dark coming in, the temperature began to drop.

The air was still and thick. The scents were growing more intense as I stumbled around the area. The dirt crunched beneath my feet in its loose soil, and with whatever was in it, it reminded me of crushed bone. Surely enough, a scorpion began to come into the open. The sleek black tail, the pincers— all were reminiscent of the very appearance he had. As the tail coiled upward, the stinger was poised to strike. It seemed to have its sharpness aimed directly at me. From the corner of my eye, I saw it crawling onto my hand. The vein atop was pronounced, beating, and I could sense its hostility.

My mind began to race. The scorpion was prepared and immediately, I took a risk and jerked my hand. The small arachnida was flung against the other side of the rock wall, but landed on the smaller boulder beneath it. It began to flit towards me but my mind hadn't the restraint anymore. My eyes rolled over back into my head. The heaviness of silver overcame my pupils, my scleras. So much was dark and yet, I could feel the power of my telekinesis growing. I urged a rock to fall downward then.

I broke my concentration momentarily. When I opened my eyes again, I saw the scorpion's remains. It was demolished, crushed. I could smell its venom and its blood in the hazy air. The strong sting of its scent was undeniable, but the smell of human blood was harsher than anything else. I could smell it although I couldn't tell from where it was coming.

\---

After I had retired into the hearse for the night, my eyes were watering. My vision blurred in and out as I heard rustling outside. The flames of the white taper candles flickered back and forth, to and fro. I felt their heat upon me and as I sat up, my body was coaxed. A trance. An undeniable pull to something I couldn't understand. I looked out the hearse's back window, and the pane of glass was glistening. Something was clearly outside.

I stirred closer towards the door and I opened it to let myself out. The moment the desert wind picked up, I smelled something different. It was feminine on the air. There were strange scents of peonies, of orchids, gloxinia and roses in the breeze. I thought I was smelling things differently, but I wasn't. There in front of me, aside on a boulder's edge, there was an old dress. Its low neckline was surrounded by white embroidered lace. Short sleeves were ruffled and there was a voluminous skirt upon its form. It certainly did not seem from this century, and that made me curious beyond belief.

I picked the dress up and looked around. How the hell did it get here?

"Hello? Anyone there?"

I felt stupid in calling out like that, but some part of me felt compelled. I called out again, but I saw a dark form atop another boulder. I tilted my head upward and just saw the flowing garments of a chiffon evening dress. A woman was standing there and she was coming down. Towards me. I saw her wild black hair flowing and waving in the wind. She seemed as if she were a video vixen, but I wasn't so sure of what she was, nevertheless who she was.

"Hello?"

She grew closer and as she carried herself down here, I heard her voice carry off the rocks as well. "Michael?"

I stepped back. My heart was beating fast, my hands were clenched. Her lips were speaking my name still and I was afraid of her. She seemed docile but at least, deep down I was feeling mortified. The fact that she knew my name as she first saw my face, it bothered me.

_"Michael, don't be frightened."_

"What?" I gasped aloud. She had said that to me without even opening her mouth, without even moving her lips. She had spoken to me via the recesses of my mind. Was I chaining with her now? Just as I had done before with Liz?

"Come to me, Michael," she was telling me. " _I want to show you something_..."


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, Mike is now in the real past! He's entranced into the year 1862 by Christine (my original character), and together, they are caught in the middle of the Seven Days Battle. You can read about it [here!](https://www.historynet.com/seven-days-battle)

**_-1998, Mike's POV || Continued-_ **

"Hey, who the hell are you!"

I began to race up the ravine of rocks and through the curve of a small path, I found myself walking between the boulders. The night was cloudy, so there was barely any moonlight to help shine a light as to where I was walking. I quickened in pace and hurried after her. She was right there in front of me and I wasn't about to let her out of my sight.

She was shorter but I could see the outline of her frame. The chiffon floated behind her like waves, and she seemed ethereal, not quite human though I didn't know what to make of her yet. I tried to call after her again, but she didn't answer me. Instead, she kept leading me down this secluded terrain. To my surprise, I saw her running aimlessly towards this all-too-familiar silver spacegate.

"Damn it, wait! You don't know what's through there!" I called out.

Finally, we both managed to reach the bottom of the hill. She was only a few feet away from the spacegate, and as I approached her, she looked over her shoulder at me as she paused in her stance. " _Don't you think I know what's through there? How do you think I got here in the first place, how I learned to blend in with your century?_ "

She held her hand out to me and waited. The soft white paleness of her skin resonated against the silver, and I thought to myself over and over again that she couldn't be real. She seemed too celestial. My heart was beating cautiously, then its pace quickened the moment I heard her voice in my head again. Without moving her lips, she said, " _But I am here, Michael. I am as real as you are, and I want to show you something_."

I shook my head towards her. "I don't even know where you came from, and I don't even know your name. How do you expect me to trust you?"

She came up to me then and I did not move. My hands rested at the side of my hips and I saw her lips form a gentle smile. Her nature itself did not seem threatening, and thus, I was confused. Her blue eyes were looking into mine now and she suddenly cupped my face with both her hands.

"I'm not hurting you, am I? I'm not making the move to kill you, harm you?"

"No," I said aloud then. "That's what's confusing me." _But what is your name?_

She took my hand into hers then and together, we began to walk towards the spacegate itself. I heard the sonic vibrations and there were sounds that had a rather attuned hum to them. This young woman looked over her shoulder again and she whispered, "Christine is my name, Michael. I apologize for not having told you sooner. But please..."

We stopped momentarily and came to a halt. The winds were blowing her black chiffon into the gate, and it disappeared between the poles. She held onto me then and spoke.

"Where we're going, I can't protect you. I am just a woman there. I have no way to speak for myself, no way to defend myself. But as long as you stay close to me, it'll be somewhat easier. But this is war you'll see. War you've learned of as a child. When we walk through that spacegate, you won't be in the twentieth century anymore. But of course, I will answer you as I can. Follow me."

\---

When she and I ventured through, we fell through darkness. There were wisps of silvery-grey clouds everywhere. It seemed a complete eternity falling into nothingness, but eventually, it reminded me of the first time I ever ventured through a spacegate. Only now, the surroundings were bleak and dim. Nothing red like before. Finally, we stopped falling. Together, she and I landed among each other upon a pile of disgruntled dirt. She and I rolled and the moment we stopped, I felt her fall hard onto me. Her elbow nudged itself into my lower abdomen, near my hip. The dirt broke our fall somewhat, but not entirely. I rolled onto my side then but I trampled into an open hole, a pit. I hit the ground hard in the dark.

"Oh I am sorry," she said. "I didn't mean—"

Then she screamed and clasped herself to me. The sound of a roaring cannon echoed into the air, and it thudded, it ripped through the air as did the scraps of wood. Splinters and other kind of shrapnel flew merciless. The sounds grew more frantic and she sat up then, her hands upon her head. She looked at me with tears in her eyes, and as I studied her emotions, I could tell that she was telling the truth. But when I looked around, I noticed something else was different about us.

She was in a nineteenth-century nurse's gown. It was a plain and loose calico dress, with her sleeves now torn; made of cotton it was, and beneath her train, she did not wear a cage crinoline. Instead, she wore a simple petticoat, which was now famished, same for the fabrics and sewn-on patches she had upon it. However, what was most appalling upon her person was the bloodied white apron.

I looked down at myself and saw myself wearing a white, now dirtied shirt of bright white cotton. I felt the high collar against my nape, and as I looked down, there was blood upon the white bib front. As to whose blood it was, I had no idea. The black trousers I wore were now rattled and ripped on one side. I myself looked like hell with the soles of my boots now ruined, but all I knew was that I was now scared as hell.

As she looked upward, she rasped as she took out an old gold pocket watch. She checked the time and exhaled, trying to calm her nerves. The way she looked at the hands, it proved how timeless she really was.

"It is eleven forty-seven in the evening," she replied. "And it is June 25th... _1862_. We're in Richmond. The Confederates are to push the Union Army away from here, I can feel it."

"Christine," I said. "Where are we?"

The cannons roared again and now, gunfire was being emitted. I could smell the raw ammunition and I could also smell the stench of gunpowder among the air. I brought her close and nestled her against the wall of the dug-out pit. "Christine, where are we? What year is this?"

"But why are we here?" I rasped.

I was about to question her further, but I heard an all-too-familiar voice calling out to people unseen. It was a deep, groveling voice, but one with a strange, simplistic expression of concern, of care and order. I was about to stand up to look around the area for the impending danger, but she had miraculously left the pit before me. "Come along, Michael!"

\---

The moment we escaped the pit, I found myself running after her. The train of her dress floated behind her through the brisk dark, with only the light of the moon allowing us to see where the hell we were going. I watched her hair hide her face and as the cannon fire continued, I trailed close by, to make sure that she wouldn't stumble accidentally into the crossfire. Her small feet carried her farther and faster than mine own did.

"Christine, wait! Where the hell are you going?"

She didn't stop. Still, I heard that voice. _His voice_ — it was leading her even though it did not carry its direction towards her. I heard her sighs exclaim with relief, with happiness. Her arms were outstretched now as she raced towards this opened medical tent. There were men coming in, rushing out, and they were all bloodied. One man was even upon a cot, being carried out by his comrades. The roaring was moving off to the distance, but the gunshots were still loud enough and close.

"Christine?"

I stopped in my tracks as _he_ exited the tent. His hands were bloodied, his white apron dark and stained with fresh blood. In the moonlight, it seemed almost black. I heard her crying now. I saw the sweat running down her left temple, and as she took his bloodied hands into hers, she sighed and jumped in her place while her feet remained on the ground.

"Jebediah, thank God," she cried.

"Where have you been, child? I thought those Confederates had taken you prisoner! Come, we must tend to the wounded."

I was still in disbelief, especially as he took her by the hand. He began to lead her towards the tent, but I was then grabbed by two officers. They thrust a Colt revolving rifle into my hands, and they were pulling me by the collar, their hands charred. I saw her face grow wide as I was being carried off, and as she turned, this Jebediah, he seemed none other than a guardian, a mentor to her. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her into the tent. As the two officers brought me out towards the firing area, I saw the train of her dress, as bloodied as it was, fade into the dark as I left her there with _him_.


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for having been away! I promise, I haven't forgotten about this fanfiction! My Chromebook cord is shot to shit so now I have to order a new one, and my Chromebook's battery is on the blink of death. So, for the time being, I must use my mother's Toshiba laptop.
> 
> More to come with Christine, Jebediah, Mike and of course, Reggie and the Tall Man!
> 
> Love to all!

_**-1862 | Christine's POV-** _

When I was pulled into the tent, I saw how Jebediah grew frantic. In front of us, there were men bandaged and bleeding. The smell of chloroform was strong, but alas, we had to be assuredly careful of it so that we would not go under ourselves. All around us, there were used cloths, drained or half-emptied bottles, and there were barely enough supplies to keep the men's pain away. One of them clutched onto my ankle and I yelped aloud.

"Miss, please," the young man cried. "Can't you give me something for the pain?"

The smell of bodily fluids and phlegm was very heavy in the air then. For those who could not control their bodily functions any more, they seeped into the open, dripping beneath their cots and their blankets. I coughed and heaved from the scent. Everywhere I looked, the smell of refuse was there.

Jebediah, however, pulled me close to him and said, "There isn't much time for these men. I have spent the last fifteen hours trying to save them. For those who try to hold on, their wounds either heal slowly, painfully, or their wounds gape back open and become infected. We must find more supplies, Christine. I don't know what more I can do for them. It's tearing me apart and I hate to see them in such pain. Can you assist me one last time?"

I looked over my shoulder towards the open flap of the tent. There were men rustling, men rushing to the front with their weapons in hand. I saw the silver gleam in the June moonlight. With the heat upon us, I saw how dehydrated they were becoming. Still, they rushed and defended each other with everything they were. I knew then that Jebediah couldn't do it alone, and so, I would pull my weight.

I quickly retrieved a somewhat clean apron. I wrapped the strings in the back and tied them rather efficiently. I rushed over to the table where Jebediah's recent patient was, and as I washed my hands in the lukewarm water, he strapped the young man down. He began to thrash much like the one before. Blood welled to the side of his mouth, with foam and bile erupting too. I raced towards the man and carefully held him down for Jebediah.

"Christine," he said, "I cannot hold him down. You must use your strength to help us in the moment. Once I have him secured, I am going to begin to remove the shrapnel from his arm. It's lodged deep into his upper arm and it's pierced his humerus. It might have penetrated an artery or a vein as well, so I must work quickly. Please hand me the instruments as we continue the procedure."

I did as he bid, and for the next few hours, bile, blood and other bodily fluids smeared our clothing, wet my hands and dropped to the ground. As young and as durable this man's body was, I had no idea as to how long it would continue. As the gunfire outside carried off, the sound of cannons boomed in the distance. The shuddering thuds traveled through the ground and entered our bones. I looked at Jebediah, who was very reluctant to have more poor souls come to us. I knew he pitied them as I did, and as I bandaged the sedated youth's leg, Jebediah nearly collapsed entirely from exhaustion. His knees buckled and he held himself up on the edge of the table. I went over to him and wrapped my arms around his torso, carrying him to a nearby cot.

"You must sleep," I said. "You have been working on these men for hours on end, and now I believe it's time for you to rest. I will do what I can. Sleep, Jebediah."

He wheezed from tiredness. "Christine..."

He placed his elderly head down and closed his eyes. He held my hand for a moment, and I felt his thumb brush against my skin; he felt cold, tremulous. I covered his legs and hips with a thin sheet. He lowly breathed and took the time to resonate in regaining his strength. As the other men began to fall asleep too, I kept watch. I dimmed the light of the oil lamps, and slowly, quietly, there was an eerie silence that consumed my conscience undeniably. The cannons roared away in the distance and my heart remained on the edge.

 

\---

 

As I was half-awake and half-asleep, there were many thoughts going through my mind. I could feel reverberations of a strange force colliding in my cells, in my heart, and as I looked out of the flap of the tent. My bosom heaved with anxiety, with a pressurized ache. I felt the rustling of the wind come over me, and as I felt my bones grow heavy with weight, I seized upright and felt my muscles twinge with stiffness.

" _Christine_?"

I felt my eyes close and my head tilted backward. I clawed at my collar and unbuttoned it for air. The moment the air hit my skin, I was thrown backward onto the ground. The dirt caught my body, and yet no one else awoke to help me. Everyone else, including Jebediah, remained asleep. The sensations overthrew me and I could not process them altogether. Still, his voice rang through me.

_"Christine, what the hell am I supposed to do? I seriously need your help. I can't stay here in this century. You have to help me get home..."_

My mind began to form words unheard, began to speak them as clearly as if they were exchanged from my lips to his. "Where are you?"

I closed my eyes even tighter and began to walk through the darkness. I was still in the physical realm with my body, though my feet and spirit were trekking through an unforeseen dimension. He appeared in front of me and I felt his hand touch mine. He seemed panicked. His clothes were bloodied and torn. I could not understand how I could see him so clearly, but yet, he was there.

 _"Christine, I don’t know anything about this time. I've only ever learned about this stuff from history books. I have no idea how to handle these kinds of guns. I don't know this area. I am caught in the middle of the American Civil War and I'm at a total loss. What the hell am I supposed to do?"_ he asked _._

The blood was overwhelming my senses as I tried to think of what to say. So many screams, agonizing cries of pain entered my ears. There was so much disease, death and chaos everywhere. I couldn’t think of how to help him. In the vision, Michael was distressed. His clothes were torn already, with his white shirt ripped at the collar and bloodied. He was walking with worn-out boots and I saw him holding a Winchester rifle. His knuckles were white and I feared for him.

“ _I do not know what to say, Michael, except to hold on and be very aware of where you are. I am so sorry…_ ”

 

\---

 

Hours passed and Michael was still here with me, in this, the presence of 1862. The heat outside was sweltering, was harsh, but I knew in all instance that he would fight like hell to come back to the spacegate. I could hear the sonic hum of the silver poles. It beckoned us, and as we both continued to chain, the resonating memory of our separate lives came together. His presence in the year 1998 was clashing in my mind, with memories of my own past and of my experience in his year. 

It was an utmost curiosity that I had not dared to dream of in any incarnation. It frightened me and entranced me at the same time. While Jebediah continued to sleep, the men who lay there bleeding were now quiet, either from the assistance of the morphine, or quite simply, by chance of merciful death. The roar of the cannon was not far away, and as I thought of the men's appendages exploding through the air, I became sickened with nausea. 

The train of my dress was now torn and bloodied as I walked to the entrance of the tent. It smelled of humanly fluids, of blood and urine and sweat. My hand clasped at the fold, and as I looked through the darkness, far out against the brush were an anchorage of trees were hidden away in moonlight, someone tall and dark was there under the branches. Someone with silver hair and demented eyes. I felt my heart pounding against my breast and as I recognized him, I left the tent slowly and began to walk towards the anchorage.

My eyes were left wide and I hardly blinked. I could not tell if this was an apparition, a spirit or someone ghastly, but something in me had the urge to know. I walked barefoot across the bloodied glade and continued across the dirt. Walking towards this man, I saw the outline of only his eyes and cheekbones in the striped moonlight. The rest of him was covered quite masterfully in shadow. 

“ _Christine…_ ” the voice beckoned. “ _Girl, come to me and I will show you what lies ahead in the future.”_

 


	8. Chapter Seven

**-1862, Christine’s POV || Continued-**

His voice was utterly hypnotic. Entranced and somewhat afraid, I continued to make my way towards yet another glade where these horrifying eyes stood out. The pupils were transfixed upon me. I felt as though I was being beckoned and preyed upon by a large woodland creature, or perhaps an estranged soul whose intent I could not see. The further I got, the more wet my feet became.

" _Christine_..."

The cannons did not worry me. Their sounds, though uproarious and loud they were, did not frighten me as I knew they were going far off into a distant town. The smell of gunpowder was still apparent across the blades of grass, and I could feel the train of my gown become muddled by debris, by twig and mud. It was the second time this night, hearing such a man. I knew Jebediah was still sleeping, for I had left him upon the cot in the tent. He couldn't be the one calling for me.

I paused in my step and heard a few men calling out in pain. By now, I was sure Jebediah would awaken and tend to them. I turned in my stance and stared back at the open flap of the tent. There were numerous cries of pain echoing through. I wanted to hurry back, and as I turned, trying to go back, that very same voice called me once again.

"Christine, come closer to me," it said, its tone more impatient.

"No," I whispered. "The men, Jebediah— _they need me!_ "

The thickets ahead had clashed with the sound of the rustling wind. I hadn't the idea of whether or not this thing was coming for me; and so, backing away towards the tent, I felt the essence of the eyes upon me. They were staring, they were cold. I felt such an alien hatred behind them that I grew fearful.

_"You will come to me, lest you be sewing and cleaning up the blood of your precious doctor. Do you? Do you want to sew his old flesh together and see him writhing in pain? I can assure you— I have ways of making you grow impalpable to all mortal feeling again."_

"And this is your provocative way of frightening one into servitude? Harming their acquaintances and poor souls who did nothing to you? Hurting men braver than you? Such a powerful beast you are, indeed. Prove it to me that you are this great entity. If not, go back from whence you came. I have no desire to play a party to a childish game," I growled.

I was about to slightly lift the front of my dress, when suddenly I was ambushed by small hands. These gangrel creatures surrounded me and snarled. Their bodies were short, their heads reaching the height of my waist. Hidden they were, covered in musty brown robes. The flesh they had was dead, but their eyes of golden-red were blistering with fury. All I saw were deformed faces and gnashing teeth. They pulled on me, one by one.

"Let go of me!" I cried out.

As they wrestled me away towards the dark wood, I saw Jebediah walk out of the tent, looking around as he put a hand over his brow. He had a lantern in hand, and was beginning to look around for me, calling my name. "Christine! Christine, dear girl, where are you?"

I tried to call out for him, but the back of my head was struck. I felt backward onto a slab of wood, coiled at its front with rope. It was a sled used to carry out dead bodies, and I wondered then, 'Am I dead now, too?'

\---

I awoke next to the smell of something all-too-familiar. The scent of blood, being replaced with that awful formaldehyde, entered my nostrils with rather strong fumes. I looked around and saw many corpses around me. I shuddered, I panicked, but never once did I scream. I rose off the sled and backed away. The small creatures, as they were, huddled around me to make sure I would not leave the area. By now, I could tell I was deep in a place that was not known to me. Holding my arms each by my hands, I kept myself composed as I looked around.

The buttons on the front of my dress were torn off, thus leaving my cleavage exposed. I had only deduced that either those things tore them purposefully, or the writhing had torn at my clothing. In any other way, I was angered beyond all possible belief. I hit one of the small dwarfish creatures in the face, and it backed away, though it went to charge me. It had its fingernails elongated slightly, but as it went for my bodice, a white hand appeared and grabbed its neck.

"I don't want her in pieces!" a male voice said.

With one flick of his wrist, the dwarf's neck snapped. It felt in its reanimated, cold stature down to the forest floor. It was aligned then in a pit of other dead dwarves, and I found my eyes widening at what I saw seeing. As I looked back to see who this man was, the moon crept out from behind the clouds. Had it been true? Was he the one I saw?

As flickering rays of light passed through the canopy of the trees, it illuminated the shoulder-length, silvery-white hair upon his head. His stature was six feet four, his clothes ebony black. Save for a red pin upon his ascot, his handkerchief? His clothes were foreign to me, but then I remembered, they wore that fashion in... in the twentieth century.

Like a fool, I asked, "Who are you?"

He drew closer to me and suddenly, his face was revealed. My hand clapped my mouth. My eyes were as wide as a pan, and as I stared blankly at him, my heart began to race. Chills ran down my back, across my nipples and into my heart as I saw his features. A Romanesque nose, thin lips under which there was no Cupid's bow, and eyes, piercing eyes as blue as a stormy ocean; but the scowl, it was something from hell.

I turned away and began to form tears in my eyes. "It cannot be!"

As I turned, he came up behind me and was only a few inches from my back. I felt his breath through my dark hair and upon my nape. "You do know me, Christine, don't you?"

"I don't know you," I cried. "It's not, you're not... no, you can't be! You're not him!"

He made me face him then with one violent turn. His large hand clasped around my upper forearm, and I was drawn to him immediately. My head was at the mercy of his lips. He gripped my throat in his other hand, and he urged me to look up at him.

"Little girl, this is not a game for us to play against each other. It is clear the pawns are subdued and that you and I will be the ones to acclaim checkmate. If you must, find your counterpart. Find the boy you have chained with. Lest it be you whose blood falls upon his hands. Now, go back to the century from which he dwells. You'll find the ice-cream man soon enough."

Before I could sort through his puzzling words, I felt the winds carry me backward. He released my throat and my arm, and before I knew it, I was tumbling backward towards a spacegate. I feared those silver pillars, and I knew then that this was to keep me away, to take me back to the late nineties, a place that was as foreign to me as this century was to Michael.

"No, no, Michael! No, damn you, let me stay!"

I clawed mercilessly at the ground, with soot and dirt burrowing underneath my fingernails. My palms were scratched by small twigs as I tried to stop myself from leaving. The black-clad figure all but stared at me as I screamed. As I knew it, I was falling through a red void and through the scorching heat. My hair was being blown all around and I was falling, falling as if I were a comet. My tears were dried immediately, and before I could realize what else was happening, I found myself falling down through another spacegate, rolling down a hill where cold air struck my skin rather quickly.

\---

It was night once more when I reentered the blue of the world. The moon was shining upon the desert ground and I smelled gasoline, sand and blood combined. The sound of gunfire was ranging through the boulders, echoing as I found myself back in the same dress I had changed into from before. The thin straps were around my arms now and I found myself scratched, battered and bruised.

I stood up and looked around. My feet were bare and I raced towards the boulder from which the glowing light of a campfire gleamed. I was hopeful that I would find some other person, some kind of material with which I could protect and defend myself.

As I crawled over the hill, I saw the blackened hearse from down below. Its hood was pulled upward and the back door of it was swung open. A different kind of automobile, as they were called, was parked not even a mile away. I looked around and around, and saw nothing but small shell casings upon the desert floor.

I slid downward through the rubble and caught myself before I could fall again. I went towards the hearse and looked for something that would lead me back to a spacegate, to something that would help me achieve the means to travel back to Michael.

I opened the passenger door and saw a knife lying there, silver and black-handled. I grabbed it immediately, and then, as I brought it up to look at it closely, a hand caught my shoulder and thrust me against the side of the hearse.

A four-barreled gun was pointed in my face. There stood a balding man with a tail upon the back of his head, a gritting smirk and a pair of curious eyes. He had the barrels aimed at my heart, and he answered in a quaking tone, "Just who the hell are you, sister?"

I licked my lips quickly and replied, "Christine. I... I know Michael."

"Yeah, I bet you do. The name's Reggie, and this here is my good friend from way back. He likes to shoot undead little bastards, occasionally a tall son-of-a-bitch, but mostly those chrome brain drains. Need I say anything else? Now, tell me what you're doing here, how you know Mike, and I just might begin to like ya."


	9. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I promise I haven't abandoned this fanfiction! Work's just kicking my ass and so my inspiration's a little dull. You'll get to see Mike's point of view during the Civil War next chapter though! I promise!

_**-1998, Christine's POV-** _

The hearse's painted body was actually cold now against my arms. Its blackness was sleek, but not as sleek as those pupils staring at me. He had his arms lingering in a non-defensive dangle, but at any time, I was sure he would aim his guns at me, ready to fire.

  
My hair was blowing in the wind and I could feel the pressure of the moment on my shoulders. Men, in their stances, proved to be quite the hard-headed creatures indeed.

Arching a brow momentarily, I voiced, "Honestly, why are you questioning me as if I am some kind of criminal? I already told you what is happening."

He stepped back and placed a hand on his hip. The other one was still clasping to the handle of his four-barreled shotgun, and I eyed how he tilted his head to the side, looking me up and down. The scent of a dwarf's blood was apparent on his clothes, and I could smell formaldehyde as well. He'd been in a recent fight, or at least, he was still wearing clothes that wouldn't stop producing the smell no matter how many times they were washed. It was a sickening combination, and one I don't think he fancied either. Still, I held my ground and looked at him with a pair of concerned eyes.

"Lady, put it this way. You basically just told me that Mike's trapped in 1862 with the Tall Man's human lookalike, and he's stuck in the middle of a battle in the Civil War. You say you can chain with him, but at the same time, you're stuck on a replay conference with the Tall Man. How can I trust you? How do I not know you're not in cahoots with this tall bastard?" Reggie said.

"Because," I replied immediately. "I am not killing you, nor am I trying to summon one of those spheres, am I? No. I am here talking plainly with you and I am trying to explain to you the significance of Michael's endangerment! Believe me if you wish, or don't. I won't stand here another minute longer listening to you whine. Are you coming or are you staying? Once I pass through that gate, I won't be back until I find Michael."

As I turned to the left, a spacegate reappeared and the silver resonated more loudly this time. The chrome gleamed against the sands like titanium polished and resurrected anew. I heard rustling among the boulders then. There were pitter-patter sounds of footsteps and I could tell that they weren't a friend to either of us. I began to walk steadily towards the gate and I heard Reggie scurrying behind me, following suite as I felt eyes upon me.

"Wait, damn it! I'm going—"

"No," I said, looking over my shoulder. "You are not coming because I have decided not to let you through. It's very chaotic there, and from the looks of it, it seems you've had enough of war. I don't want you to crack under pressure. I'll be back with Michael soon. I won't come back until I have him in hand."

Reggie paused behind me and furrowed his brows. Before I reached the gate, he sputtered and quivered in place. It was the first time meeting him, but judging from that look, he perhaps didn't give that expression often; he stilled and stood upright in his old stance. His eyes were wide with shock. "How did you know I was in a war?" he asked.

I turned and faced forward now. Walking through, my voice echoed and said, "Because I've seen the look of war before in a thousand men's eyes."

The vibrations consumed me and I was swept through a red haze. The heat was overwhelming and as I became thrust into a warm current of a blistering scorch, below me were bodies covered in little brown robes. His hooded creatures were venturing back and forth across the rocky terrain. I heard their snarls, heard their weary growls as they trotted back and forth across the plains of the desert-like world. It was madness, coming through these gates and not knowing what I'd find.

\---

As I finished falling through time and space, whiteness of a fast flash caught my eyes. I found myself in my old nurse's gown once more as I hit the ground very hard. The grass was stained wet by evening dew, and I could smell fresh blood rooted deep in brown soil. My heart raced with anticipation. I looked around and saw that there had been a recently-used trench. The men had burrowed like animals, hiding from a farmer's plow. But worse off, from the gunfire and cannon's path as they lowered their heads to focus on refilling their guns.

The smell of gunpowder was rather strong in the air. I could smell the sulfur, the charcoal, and with that atop the stench of blood, I heaved. I was thrown then into the area in which I saw discarded limbs once again. A severed arm lay across the way. There were blown-off fingers lying just three feet from it; the index and the thumb had been shattered and the bone was exposed. Another was a half-attached torso; beneath the hips of this young man, his femoral head and the acetabular rim were exposed too.

How I hated death. The young man before me was lying face down with his back bloodied from shrapnel. Splinters and shards were embedded near his spinal cord. He was wasted, he was used— a death unfitting before his time. It was cruel, but then again, it was war and it cared not who it took. I understood then how my mother had resigned from the mess of cleaning up bodies and tending to pus, to wounds unimaginably grotesque.

As I stepped onto the road, I heard him ringing through my head then. _"Christine!"_

My eyes blinked fast once and then twice. "Michael?"

_"Christine, for the love of God, get me out of here!"_

\---

 


	10. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise and promise I haven't forgotten this fanfiction! Alas, here is the chapter I promised of Mike's point of view. And guess what— he encounters Morningside in this chapter, though not under the most pleasant of circumstances. I wanted to add a further dimension to the character's progression, and here it be!

_**-1862, Mike's POV-** _

My head was ringing uncontrollably. The sound of high pitches resonated through my ears and I just couldn't stand it. There were orders being shouted at me, but hell, I had no idea what to do. I knew that if I didn't get out of here soon, I'd be worse off than dead.

It was striking two-thirteen in the morning, and I could feel the cold dew on the ground. It brushed against my exposed forearms as I braced the ground. I knew that keeping low would give me some kind of relief from the pelting of the debris, and more or less, give me a chance to crawl the hell out of there. It was then that I remembered Reggie's tales of him being in the Vietnam War. He spoke of how he crawled towards trenches, submerged himself in mud, covered himself in twigs and other kind of earthly debris to hide, and began to slip out of enemy views in order to get away.

But hell, there were lieutenants and corporals all around me. I had no idea how to get away. I was about to rotate onto my side, to move further down to the ground, but that was when it exploded next to us. A huge cannonball burrowed into the dirt and blew. The ringing became worse than ever, and I cried out, feeling that sphere inside my head squeal with its own sonic rings. My stomach tossed inside my abdomen and I felt myself heaving. There was no warmth around me, and all I felt was cold. The same kind of cold he hated nonetheless. Funny now that I should be the one to feel it.

I tried to inhale to the best of my abilities, but I couldn't. There was something sharp prodding into the side of my chest, and I knew then what it was as I looked down— it was a massive splinter of oak, approximately six inches long and broken in some places, lodged between my ribs. I was bleeding, and the iron was all I could smell before I passed out.

\---

When I came back into consciousness, I was back at the small base camp. I was inside a tent and my vision was groggy as hell. Nausea overcame me and I felt the taste of my blood welling at the back of my throat, on the edge of my uvula. I was lying on my good side and was shirtless then. My pants were torn and my lower abdomen was bandaged though, and I felt my skin aching, burning. My hair was damp from both dew and sweat, and it felt like I hadn't showered in years. It was a disgusting feeling, but not as badly as the one I felt when I felt eyes upon me.

"You there," a man's voice said. "Bring that bottle of chloroform over here. I need to take this young man's splinter out before it infects him."

My eyes shot open as wide as they could in that moment. Cocking my head up to face whatever direction I heard him, I saw his towering figure wearing black gloves and a blood-stained apron of leather. A young cadet came over with a small wooden table and placed it beside my cot. A lantern dangled overhead from the wooden beams of the tent, and I felt like I was stuck in the Dark Ages instead of the 19th Century. I stilled in pain as I saw him walking towards me. My heart palpitated and my breath stilled.

"Young man," he began, "I won't hurt you. At least not purposefully. I'm here to remove this wooden splinter from you and help you recover. Now, do I have your consent to perform this procedure?"

I still couldn't believe what I was hearing, seeing. He was towering right over me and didn't even recognize me. Thousands of thoughts were going through my head, and I thought to myself, "Why the hell aren't you getting your dwarfs to come snare me?"

"Sir?"

I coughed up blood and leaned onto my back, worsening the pain as my spine pressed heavily. My ribs were quivering and my sternum ached. He grabbed me and rolled me back onto my decent side, whereas he strapped my legs down at the knees, the ankles.

"I apologize, but I must ask you to remain as still as possible. I don't want to rupture your lung or injure you in a way that will put you closer to death," he said, his tone melancholic. "Please, try to be still and I will do my best."

I sputtered then. "Where's Christine?"

It caught him off-guard. "Christine? How do you—?"

"I can hear her," I mumbled. "In my head. I know you might think I'm crazy, but she came and got me..."

He grew increasingly quiet as his eyes peered at me in disbelief. He stammered himself as he shook his head in surprise. "How interesting. I thought you weren't from this time, and it appears I was correct. Tell me, what year do you come from?"

Was he mad? Was he literally asking me this on my undeniable deathbed? I shook further from the cold clamminess I was feeling. My eyes closed and I coughed some more. " _1998_."

\---

"But how do you know Christine?" he asked me. "How did you come here?"

I began to shiver uncontrollably then. "I'm dying, Doc. Can you fix me?"

He snapped back into his professional consciousness and began to take his gloves off. He washed his hands into a nearby bowl of water, dried them, and put a new set of gloves on. He washed his utensils of surgery and began to pry the bandages away from beneath my wound carefully. I felt a sting of a needle being pushed into my vein then. I flinched only slightly and took a deep breath as he finished injecting me.

"This is morphine," he said. "The last of a bottle I'm afraid, but it should be enough to help alleviate your pain. Now, please stay as still as possible. I apologize immensely if this hurts."

Once finished, he took a pliers and latched onto the wood. He had a scalpel as well, and carefully, he cut the bad tissue away. The blood welled to the surface, and I could feel my head spinning, rotating almost with that awful sphere still inside my head. The wood was slowly coming out of me, and he was very lightly wrenching on it side to side. I gritted my teeth to hold back the pain of it all.

"You're doing very, very well, young man. What's your name?"

I pursed a brow as he asked me. I thought, 'Do I dare tell him?' But seeing as I was floating in and out of my mind, out of reality, I answered. "My name is Michael."

"Though I wish it was under the more pleasant of circumstances, it is very good to meet you, Michael. I am Jebediah Morningside."

 _I should've known. I should've known that was you before all that happened. But where is Christine? What's happened to her? Did you take her?_ A thousand questions rang through me, and as I felt the morphine take effect, there was no need for the chloroform. I dove into unconsciousness again, feeling the sharpness of his scalpel. 


	11. Chapter Ten

_**-1862, Christine's POV-** _

When I began to run back towards the encampment, I felt the thorns of bushes scratch against my skin. My wrists ached, my ankles crackled like twigs snapping. I was hurting badly but I had been running and resting, continuously for an hour now. The moon was lighting my way and I could see the dirt road up ahead. My heels were undeniably throbbing from the heels I wore, and as I turned the corner, seeing now a horse in the distance with a rider, I stopped and threw myself into the dark brush nearby. The beast was trotting this way and I could not tell if it was a Confederate or Union soldier coming.

I lowered my head and kept a close watch. My hair was now loose from its tie, and it shaded my face, hiding the curves of my cheekbones and nose as the wind blew through the leaves. I could smell gunpowder not too far away. Underneath the brim of his hat, his hair was flowing in long locks that made him unrecognizable. It seemed as if this man had just come from the battle, and whether he carried a note or telegram, I did not know. I only knew he was armed. I lay lower to the ground until the side of my face was flat against the dirt. I did not want to risk being seen, and for Michael's sake, I did not wish to be captured. I had promised his friend, hadn't I? Of course I had. I needed to get him home to his time.

But as the horse neighed past me, my eyes closed together fearfully and my skin shivered. My robes were torn and the winds were just blowing wildly now. I sat up then as the soldier turned down the other dirt road, and the sheen of sweat on my forehead cleansed my dirt-covered brow. My arms ached as they pulled on a loosened branch, and as I stood upright, my ankles cracking again, I began to run onto the road once more. I traveled past the broken tree and down in the distance, I saw the encampment where I'd left. I felt my heart beating vividly, my veins rushing with fresh blood. I felt Michael's presence still, and I knew then that he was still alive, but barely.

" _Please hold on, Michael. I am coming back. Just hold on a little while longer, please._ "

\---

When I finally got back, the soldiers were all asleep. The fires were nothing but kindling now, and the smoke was rising white, rising black and smelled of burned coal all the same. I tiptoed through the site and was careful not to step across any canteens or any other trinkets of theirs. The train of my gown was shredded from road and brush, and I felt my shawl fall off my shoulders. I went towards Jebediah's tent, and quietly, I peaked inside. He was inside of course, asleep on his cot. His back was turned towards the flap of the tent and I saw his silvery-white hair glisten against the lantern light.

I looked around and saw his open trunk where he kept his medical equipment. He had taken out his tools of trade and must have performed a surgery of some kind; I saw bloodied bandages and used rags lying in a brass bucket not too far from another cot. When I looked across the way, I stepped inside quietly. Lying there on the other cot was Michael. He was asleep as well, and whether it was from chloroform or not, I silently crept towards him with a pale hand extended outward. His chest was rising up and down and that was a sure sign he lived. I was terrified though. As my fingertips trembled, my heart scattered across its beats.

"Michael?" I faintly whispered.

With a quick, awakening reflex, he caught my wrist and sat upright. He looked at me, shocked and confused. His brows furrowed together and I saw his eyes widen with relief.

"My God, where the hell have you been?" he asked, his voice low. "I thought you left me here."

I shook my head and helped his figure off the cot. Upon hearing the uncertainty in his voice, I replied, "No, I would never abandon you. Besides, I promised your friend I would bring you back. Come along, Michael. I will take you home."

\---

_**-1998-** _

When we managed to come across the threshold again, we fell deep into the dirt of the desert once more. He landed nearly on top of me, with only his elbow grazing my shoulder. I heard him thud and groan aloud. He seemed in pain as I took notice of the grimace on his face. I brushed myself off and saw the ending of the sunset dying behind the boulders. I saw how shadows crossed his face then and darkened his features.

I stood upright and carried him towards the hearse. His feet dragged somewhat, and in my small stature, I brought him towards the back of the vehicle as it was called. I opened its back door and ushered him inside. He crawled inside as did I, and upon seeing the silver-cast candelabra, I took the matches lying there and stroke their wicks. I lit each candle one by one, and the inside of the creme-colored interior lit up in a soft, luminescent glow. He lay on a small pillow and he clutched at his side.

I looked around for Reggie, but saw that the other vehicle was gone. Looking out the windows past the white curtains, I saw the tracks in the sand. He was gone and there was no one but Michael and I here. It was quiet outside, save for the faint howling of the wind through the rocks. As the candle lit the interior, I saw how the wound he clutched onto was half-healed already. There was yellow seeping through the blackness of his clothes, and I worried for him then, though the amount was not vast. I removed his coat off of his arms carefully. Upon propping it underneath his back half-flat, he groaned and pulled me down to lay beside him.

The wound was freshly sewn with the stitches a dark contrast against his red skin. It did not seem heavily irritated, but it nonetheless seemed like it was not to be disturbed. I lay down and watched him him as his eyes glazed in and out of consciousness. I studied his wound and saw that it was primarily healed for the most part. As he lay on his good side, his hand gripped mine. I stilled and almost did not breathe.

"Tell me," he said.

"About what?"

"Your past," he wheezed. "I need to know how you know him."

"It's not a tale for the faint-hearted, Michael. Besides, you're exhausted. You need to rest. Lay your head down and sleep."

"Christine, this is making me crazy. You know something, don't you? I need you to tell me."

I sat up with my own head spinning. So much was going through my mind and I hadn't a single idea of where to begin. He kept hold of my hand, and his thumb brushed mine. He swallowed hard and I trembled. He pulled me to lay down beside him once more, and this time, we were face to face. I didn't know what to say or think, only that I knew that I was terrified of telling him the truth.

"I can't tell you," I said. "It'll only disrupt the future. Michael, please— we should sleep. We're both exhausted and there's just too much for us to take in right now. May I sleep in your arms?"

His eyes blinked twice and rather quickly. "In... _my_ arms?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

He swept me into his chest cavity and burrowed my face into the side of his throat. He smelled like a normal human did, but yet, I smelled formaldehyde, some other toxic and unrealistic blood. It was not the usual iron smell we produced, and for that, I wondered. The candles died down and then we were left in the dark of the hearse. I closed my eyes and carefully, my hand found his one pectoral. My palm caressed it flatly, and as we slept, I somehow felt at peace though outside of the vehicle, I could feel something shifting in the distance.


End file.
